The Fallen
by BlueStoneArcher
Summary: Companion piece to my FAFH story. Following a young Vulcan boy who reached an evac shuttle in time, and is now dealing with the psychological ramifications of all that he saw, and survived. Rated T for mild gay themes and violence in future chapters. OCs.
1. Chapter 1

The following is going to be a rated T companion piece to Far Away From Home. You don't have to read that one to enjoy this one, or vice versa. The intent is to enrich FAFH, without detracting from the style I've been working on over there.

So what's the big challenge? I suck at writing short pieces. Even in college, I'd be given a two page assignment and I'd come back with a ten pager. So, I'm going to attempt drabbling. (Is that a valid useage of the term?) Since I've got too many ideas to only do one chapter, I'm not going to attempt setting a limit on that. But I am going to try to keep each chapter as close to five-hundred words as possible. Can I do it? I haven't a clue. Might have to increase my self-imposed limit. But that would be defeating the purpose, wouldn't it?

Anyway, I don't want to delve too far in the a/n (that's cheating!) but suffice it to say, the bloke we're following here, while not a current character in FAFH, will show himself in his own good time.

* * *

Stold keyed the release. The latch on the evac shuttle hissed with equalizing atmosphere. Hundreds of beings ran to and fro in the massive hangar bay.

Humans. Screaming, crying, clutching one another. Colorful threads of chaos, interspersed with orderly groups of dark haired, dark robed individuals disembarking from a variety of vessels. Evenly spaced lines, forming logical groups. Small, broken, family units. Colleagues. Quiet, among the commotion.

"Stold." T'Rel, a girl several years his junior, approached. "Is it safe?"

He contemplated for a long moment. She queried the immediate area just outside the shuttle, but his mind wandered past, into the infinite possibilities before them.

He'd never stepped off of his homeworld. Had no idea what this world, or any other, had in store.

"I see no immediate threats," he compromised. His eyes flicked to the youth sitting in their seats. "Disembark in an orderly fashion. Remain at the foot of the stairs until you have been directed elsewhere by myself or one of the rescue teams."

He stood at the airlock, mentally ticking off each member of his group as they stepped out onto a new world. The pilot climbed back last, once he finished the engine cut-off sequence.

"Everyone accounted for?"

Stold offered a single nod.

Sufi turned back to look at the seats, most likely counting the empty places, and let out a long sigh.

"You preformed adequately," Stold said. "Considering the circumstances."

Sufi turned to his classmate. His eyebrows raised, mouth trembling.

"Adequately?" He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the bulkhead. "Adequately."

"I would not have been able to rewire the shuttle in time to escape."

"It was fortunate that my father wished for me to become an engineer. If he hadn't been tutoring me in the basics of the ignition sequence before the trip..." A moment of silence passed between them, as each spared a moment to examine the loss of their familial bonds. "I am grateful that I did not face our instructor."

Stold turned away. He couldn't meet his classmate in the eye.

"We should go supervise our charges."

"Yes."

Twenty-eight younger students from their academy.

Twenty-eight rescued, out of the thousands of individuals visiting the museum that day.

Twenty-eight saved, out of the hundreds in their educational grade.

And two individuals from three grades above; on academic probation and serving volunteer hours assisting in supervising and tutoring this handful of the best-and-brightest.

"How much do we tell?" Sufi asked at the top of the stairs.

"The confrontation did not happen in front of her students. Only you and I witnessed... what happened."

"I believe it might be advantageous to minimize the situation."

Stold frowned. Stopped to eye his counterpart halfway down the stairs. "You are suggesting we imply an untruth."

"I propose that there are items of greater importance to consider, rather than the final moments of an instructor already dead."

Twenty-eight pairs of eyes looked up at them. Seeking guidance he had no right to give.


	2. Chapter 2

Stold and Sufi bracketed their charges as the hangar filled. Provided information to young humans in crisp red uniforms when queried. The children were bundled up in gray blankets, herded in with similar clusters of young Vulcans.

"We are supposed to insure their safety," Sufi called out. His shaking hands nearly reached for the elbow of the older female human. She clutched a clipboard tightly to her chest, making every effort to keep herself outwardly calm.

"You're only kids yourselves. You've done a great job, but we've got a lot more survivors coming in. Elementary age kids are going to group homes. High schoolers like you guys are going to housed on Fleet Academy grounds for the time being. Some admiral higher up says your curriculum is on par with freshman-level classes."

"They intend for us to attend school here?" Stold asked, stepping up to his classmate's side.

"The idea is to get back into your usual routine while the dust settles. We've got schools opening up for the little ones." Her bright green eyes darted back to the kids. "Transport is leaving, and I've got to be with them to get them ironed out. Your point person is at the student union. Do you need directions?"

A steady stream of dark-haired adolescents migrated through one of the pedestrian doors. Clusters of others in red and black uniforms moved against the flow.

"We will find our way."

The woman's eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them before she nodded and turned back to her duty.

Sufi gnawed at his lower lip. Stold watched the transport fire up and move off, to be replaced with another, empty, and another group of young Vulcans filed in.

"Move it, move it! Medical emergency!"

They stepped out of the way as several gurneys raced past, surrounded by shouting medical officers in green splattered uniforms.

The vibrant hue burned into his retinas. He blinked rapidly, trying to cleanse the virescent tint before it washed over his entire field of view. Logically, he knew that every surface of the hangar bay was not coated in a slick layer of blood. Logically, even if every Vulcan within the hanger was exsanguinated within moments of one another, the volume would not be adequate, nor the hue so uniform in-

"Stold."

He blinked again. Sufi's concerned face filling his vision. Pale from stress, skin drawn tight over cheeks and jaw. Not covered in the blood of the millions, billions, left behind.

"Yes?"

Thin brows drew together.

"I said, should we move on? If we are not looking after the children, we should do as directed and look for this 'student union' that Ms. Callahan spoke of."

"You are correct."

"Where do you think we should go?"

Stold nodded towards the door he'd noticed earlier. A tight knot of Vulcans, carefully maintaining the requisite personal space from one another, waited to the side while a crowd of Star Fleet officers shoved one another as they came in.


	3. Chapter 3

A sea of voices filled the air around them. Human, Orion, Betazoid, Trill. Most speaking Standard, calling out for friends, for orders. Looking for missing family and friends with the fanatic need of those ruled by their unbridled emotions.

Tidbits of information floated through the air. A handful of Star Fleet ships survived. More destroyed utterly. Lifepods collected. No one quite knew how many of the rescuers survived the attack from the Romulan mining vessel.

Cadets had been sent to rescue Vulcan.

_Cadets_.

Children. Only a few years older than him.

Children sent off to war, to die.

The sheer insanity of it stunned him.

His mind flashed to stories told in the middle of a desert night between his compatriots. Stories of the war-like humans, how readily they cut down each other, reducing their short lives to nothing. One said she'd heard that humans began reproducing as early as ten of their solar cycles old. Another said his father had read reports that compulsory military conscripture began at sixteen, while they didn't gain the right to be heard in public office until eighteen.

And now, the probability that all of those he knew were deceased and dragged into the black hole was astronomically high. Leaving him stranded on this planet of "war-like apes."

"Can you believe how calm they all are?"

"It's called 'shock,' Tina. Grow a pair, will ya?"

He glanced at a trio of humans, heads bowed over a couple PADDs. The crowd around them swallowed their bodies up, but not their tinny, nasal voices.

"It's like they're cows going up the gangplank to the slaughterhouse. Except there aren't even any corrals keeping them in the neat lines."

"Do you know what a cow is?" Stold asked Sufi.

"No, I do not. But I do not like the concept of a house for slaughter." He gnawed at his lower lip again.

A wave of uneasiness settled in his side as they joined a line of individuals heading for the exit.

Blank eyes stared ahead all around him. Following the individual in front of them. Stold and Sufi swallowed into the tide without any better direction to take.

Down several full corridors their line took one last turn. The militaristic halls, with their uniform colors and lack of decoration, opened up to a lobby with row upon row of bright orange chairs. Bad paintings on the walls. Abstract sculpture dotting the floor. Large, open windows.

The first breath of air on a new planet just as refreshing as the view promised.

Cold. Crisp. The air heavier than his body evolved for, but the additional oxygen invigorated his blood.

The weight of hundred of eyes, and cameras, staring unblinkingly at their progression. The long line of people crossing towards a big, sterile building on foot. Names marked down, pictures taken, missing family recorded. Sleeping rolls, meal cards, and a bags of toiletries passed to each individual.

Finally directed towards a large, empty stadium.

Home. For the foreseeable future.

* * *

A/N: I'm having issues with age. There is, of course, the difference between an Earth year and T'Khasi, along with comparative maximum ages. The way that ST:09 was filmed, one would think that Spock and Kirk were about the same age, but in ST:TOS Spock said he was seventy-something (I can't remember the episode, but I think it was the pilot or Menagerie. I'll rewatch again and figure it out and edit this later). If he was in his seventies when Pike was Captain, then theoretically in his late seventies by the time Kirk came aboard as a thirty-something, which would mean that Spock'd be mid-forty when he turned down admission to the Vulcan Science Academy... and really, that all doesn't matter all that much.

Let's just say, I'm going with the assumption that an individual who can live until they are two-hundred, two-hundred fifty years probably takes a longer time maturing.

So, since I'm going play on cultural confusion, I'm going to set some ages "in stone" for this ficlet. Using Earth's year as the basis, since, well, there isn't anymore T'Khasi.

Preschool … 0 – 5

Elementary/Primary … 5 – 15

Middle … 15 – 25

High … 25 – 35

To be honest, thinking of spending ten years in highschool makes me want to stab myself in the eye. Repeatedly. But, Vulcans are known for their intelligence and education so... I guess it makes sense, yeah? Feel free to tell me off, or if you know of someone with a more canon-idea of what they're looking at, you're more than welcome to share that too.


	4. Chapter 4

Hundreds upon hundreds filed placidly into the arena. Orderly rows appeared spontaneously, allowing eventual entrance and egress, once individual placement has been arranged.

Stold clutched his sleeping roll to his chest. He watched, from his location close to the center of this massive building, attempting to count all those that filed in. Coarse, alien carpeting under his feet.

Grass. He's heard the word somewhere.

Green. Green as blood.

A sea of blood.

How did the humans expect anyone to sleep on miniscule stalagmites of blood?

His heart-rate increased ten percent.

So many of his people around him. So many, he could no longer see the entrances to count the multitude.

He should be comforted by their presence. By so many still alive. Hearts beating. Lungs respirating. Stomachs digesting.

Instead...

Instead, he only saw the blank faces of strangers. One indistinguishable from another.

Felt the utter desolation in his mind where his mother, his father, his sister should be.

No matter the distance, the time of day, that bond held a weight within in. A constant tingle in his mind, alongside the operation of his organs. Just as vital. Just as necessary for life.

Blind eyes gazed into nothingness around him.

A deep reverberation shook the building. A thrumming, cranking sound, subsonic and tactile through his very feet. Desturbingly, immediately, familiar.

As one, all of the Vulcans in the stadium stopped. Hands untying knots on sleeping rolls. Tucking away meal cards. Straightening robes. Inventorying the strange objects in the toiletry bag.

It is happening again.

For several long, horrible microseconds, Stold fought to keep his heart pumping blood.

A bone shattering crack, then a rusty creak, drew thousands of eyes upward.

The roof, a great concave surface, suddenly split above them, revealing the bright blue sky he'd escaped two point five hours ago.

He watched as the roof retreated. Fascination taking over as he watched the surface, assumed solid, folded in the stiff manner of durable canvas between sturdy struts that stretched the width of the building.

Bright light from the local star, Sol, swept over the assembling crowd. Offering its own slight warmth.

Stold found his eyes sliding closed, his face upturned towards that star; absorbing as much of that radiant energy as he could.

Cautious talking broke out around him once the roof finished its repositioning.

"Why would the humans do such a thing?" Sufi asked.

"It is a logical use of natural light," Stold replied, not opening his eyes.

"No... I meant... why move it while we are in here."

"No doubt they assumed we would wish additional light to get settled."

Stold did not mention that there was no way for the humans to know that such a sound, such a vibration, would send terror running through their blood.

A good Vulcan did not feel terror.

A good Vulcan would not startle like a ritibird at a gust of wind, and duck it's head in the sand to hide.

The silent response of the multitude said enough.

* * *

A/N: Going to be on the road this weekend. This means I'll be seeing wifi spots while I travel. I will be posting a new chapter every day this weekend (possibly until Tuesday) in TF, and possibly also in FAFH. Enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

As dusk settled, the sky overhead turned for an agonizing moment an ordinary pale red. Sufi gently pried his sleeping roll from his hands and extended it side-by-side adjacent to his own place.

Stold noted the closer than strictly socially acceptable position, but it left additional space between them and the strangers bracketing them on all sides. Stold found this compromise admissible, so did not mention it.

The arena darkened. Individuals began to sit, or recline, allowing Stold a better view of the surrounds. How, incredulously, still more filed in. To the north side, red-uniformed humans directed additional individuals into the seats surrounding the arena. Stold did not know if he envied or pitied these; they would have a better vantage over how many lived in this inhospitable location.

"Have they set up the replicators yet?" Sufi asked from the ground.

At each cardinal direction, where the main entrances to the grass-covered field lay, teams of engineers worked with the bustling of an angry hive.

"I do not assume so."

"I wish I had not skipped my breakfast meal," he admitted.

An elder, three beds down, murmured something. He rummaged in a satchel, plucking out several foil wrapped parcels.

"Pass these to the children," he said, shaking hands reaching only as far as the roll next to him.

Stold did not miss the naked longing in the young woman's eyes, but she did as she was bid.

Nine bars of emergency rations reached Sufi's hands.

Stold noted a blue stripe along one side. Medical rations.

"I can not take these, Elder."

"I will not eat when the generation below me goes without. Do as you wish with them."

Sufi handed one to Stold, who quickly skimmed the label. He nodded, handing it back. Not medicated, simply a specific sugar balance and calcium supplement.

"Thank you, Elder."

The man grunted, closed his eyes, and fell into deep meditation.

Sufi raised the bar again to his classmate. He accepted it, silently passing it back to the young woman, who nodded her thanks. Another appeared in his hands.

Each stared at the medical blue stripe.

Stold picked a corner of the foil away, exposing the amalgamated grain, fruit, and minerals.

Sufi and the unknown woman did the same after several long moments. Splitting the foil to expose the nutrient bar without touching it.

Centuries of social expectation screamed within Stold's mind. His eyes wandered left and right. Surely, if he were creative enough, he could find a dish, fork and knife, so that he could eat.

He met Sufi's eyes over his own bar.

"We might not have utensils, but we can still have decorum," the woman said, understanding the complication.

Their eyes went to her, seeking an example. Studied her downcast gaze, carefully curled fingertips tucked under plastic. Both turning away as her mouth reached towards the still very exposed digits.

"Closed eyes," Sufi suggested. Stold nodded agreement.

In the morning, they discovered the Elder passed away.

They never learned his name.


	6. Chapter 6

Five days later, the emergency replicators were finally operating. At twenty percent efficacy.

The endless rumbling in Stold's stomach reminded him of his coming-of-age ceremony in the desert. The unceasing cold this planet offered wore away at his mental resolve.

Earth protein bars had been passed around. Sickness followed after. Human food not precisely attuned to Vulcan digestive systems. Too many bodies in too small a space. Air filtration units not designed to handle so many. Every seat in the arena filled. Every centimeter of the field occupied. The passageways originally marked off reduced to mere footprints between folded bed rolls as yet more bodies came in.

It didn't matter. Not much reason to move about. Not here. Most were lost to their own internal worlds.

Because they hadn't known how long it would take to fix the replicators, Stold and Sufi finished off the rations the second day. Nine bars split three ways turned into one meal, after Sufi noted the way their companion's hand strayed to her abdomen when she assumed no one was looking.

Stold did not argue the logic in sharing them. In truth, the thought of eating another portion, after the Elder passed, left him feeling more nauseous than the "yogurt coated chocolate-chip granola bar."

She refused them, citing the Elder's last living statement. The pair could have quoted the man themselves, but did not want to embarrass the woman. Obviously without a bondmate now.

Sufi tucked the bars into her bed roll while she paced back and forth one morning.

Later, they offered what privacy they could by closing their eyes and discussing reorganizing the periodic table loud enough to draw curious eyes.

"Do you think you can 'hot wire' one of those things?" Stold had asked when he could no longer silence his rumbling stomach with meditations of plomeek soup.

"The best minds in the universe are in this building. I doubt I can assist."

Stold did not sigh in exasperated agreement.

Sufi fell to silence. Stold watched the sky. Listened to the engineers work, meters away. Some human organizing rotation of the three "functional" units. Calling out sections to come up with their meal cards, receive what portion could be eked out of the malfunctioning systems. As each replicator hit it's limit, predictably unpredictable, it was turned down and the engineers buzzing about the last down unit prodded their current project to limping capability.

"Fifteen yards, unit four," she called, voice flatter than his neighbors.

"That's us," Sufi said.

Stold's eyes strayed to the white line painted in the grass half a meter away.

"Indeed."

Sufi stood without aid.

Stold stumbled. Leaned his open palm against his bedroll for a long moment.

"Do... do you need assistance?"

Yes.

"No."

He swallowed the bile in his throat. The raw pain in his gut. Concentrated on the trembling muscles. Impossible to still completely.

He heaved himself upright. Arms pinwheeled.

Sufi grabbed the scorched material at his shoulder. Each gasped at the contact. Pulled away.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I had to put in a little touchy-feely there. I was starting to feel a little guilty about throwing so much metaphorical shit at our boys. Things will get better, I promise, just not for a while.

And before you ask, yes, I'm sure Starfleet would love to be able to just tuck everyone away in lovely furnished apartments, with plenty of food, blankets, chocolate, and therapy all 'round. But, guess what, emergencies don't work like that. Especially big scale ones. The 'fleet just lost most of its ships, its crewmembers, and I'm guessing everyone's stretched a little thin and more than a little lost and disorganized themselves.

In FAFH I mention that refugees are split between Betazed and Earth. Personally, I think this is a logical idea, since a (very openly) telepathic species might be better able to assist with long-term healing. Would probably take quite a bit of convincing to get the rather stoic Vulcans to relax enough around such an open community to accept said help, but (if the Troi's are any example) they'd not take "No" for an answer.

This may, but most likely will not, come up in this ficlet, other than perhaps in passing reference. Vuron (in FAFH) is getting the "big picture" through his offworld security reports. Stold and Sufi are dealing with the immediate realities.

Admittedly, now the gears are turning on that score. Anyone wanna see another companion piece about someone/someones sent to Betazed in the aftermath? Could be for some interesting/amusing times.


	7. Chapter 7

Thankfully, the humans provided bowls and spoons. Gruel without utensils would have been disastrous.

They returned to their places silently.

Sufi took a moment to roll his bed to create a structure to sit on.

Stold admired the idea, but did not duplicate the action. Regaining his previous position required more energy than he currently possessed.

Sufi eyed him as he tumbled down in a boneless heap.

They ate in silence, not looking at one another.

Stold scraped his bowl as clean as possible, resolving to digest every molecule of the tasteless substance.

"Shall I return our utensils?" Sufi asked.

Stold's fingers clenched around the bowl. His stomach growled.

He... needed. He desired more. The portion allotted did not sate his hunger. He found he did not wish to return the small items.

"Stold... it is not logical to keep dirty dishes in our sleeping area."

But when would they be called up to get more dishes? To fill their bowls again? Their stomachs again?

Stold blinked down into his empty hands. Sufi had removed the bowl without his noticing. His head jerked up as his companion returned to smooth his sleeping mat.

They carefully insured that they did not meet one another's gazes until the setting sun pulled a dark blanket over their world. They stretched out, side-by-side, as habit and space dictated. Curled on their sides, facing one another.

"I am sorry I touched you," Sufi whispered in a voice low enough that hopefully, only Stold heard.

"It is not logical to apologize where no indiscretion was intended."

Stold closed his eyes. Tried to not feel the sensation of the gruel settling and putting a strange pressure on his heart. Tried no not feel the shadow warmth of Sufi's fingertips on his skin. The fleeting brush of a mind just as broken and lonely as his own.

Broken, lonely, and so very different.

"Tell me about who you lost."

Stold did not sigh.

Sufi had listened to his breathing. Known he didn't sleep.

"Mother. Father. Sister."

"Younger?"

"Older. First year in the VAS."

He heard the rustle of Sufi nod, his hair scratching against the roll. For a long while, he assumed Sufi slept.

"I didn't have any siblings. My bondmate was..."

Stold squeezed his eyes shut. Swallowed hard.

"T'Vazi lived next door. We saw each other every day. Walked to school together. Ate lunch together. She tutored me in history class. I can never remember the important dates like she can."

From the glance Stold inadvertently received, he knew of their closeness. It outshone even the bond he had with his parents. Put the affection he felt for them to shame. The unbearable pain of the gaping hole she left in his mind.

"You were fortunate to have had such compatibility with your intended."

He heard the rustle of hair again.

"At the moment, I envy you," Sufi's voice fell even quieter. Admitting to such a base emotion... "For not possessing an arranged bond to be broken."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Warning: Adolescent hand porn. ...Do I have to give a warning for that? Guess better safe than sorry. No nudity or genitals involved, but it is two boys, so if that bothers ya, I'd recommend something else.

* * *

In the dark of the coming nights, they opened up to one another. Little things at first. A preferred food. An intolerable teacher. An interesting anecdote about bondmate or sister. Sufi wisely strayed away from discussing parents. Stold often wondered how his companion could bare to recount any stories of his intended... until he realized Sufi had begun to speak of her in the present tense. As if she were really far away, rather than...

And perhaps she was. Stold had no experience to question the strength of that bond. This wasn't the only shelter.

As the slowed breathing of the others around them filled their ears, they'd fall quiet. Unable to sleep for the gnawing in their bellies. The pain in their minds.

Simply finding comfort in the presence of an individual who hadn't been a stranger before all they knew imploded.

One moonless night, when Stold nearly fell asleep for the sheer serenity of not having that unblinking eye staring down upon him, he felt a slight nudge keeping him awake.

He blinked his eyes open. The stars, in newly recognized constellations, gently touched the curve of Sufi's cheek.

In this gloom, with his mind nearly succumbed to sleep, his eye overlooked the gaunt turn of his cheeks. The hallow of Sufi's eyes lost to shadow.

Could almost convince himself that he'd found that certain individual with a resonant hum in his mind. That he had been the one to walk Sufi to their classes, to share quiet conspiracies over a meal he had prepared, to share whispered words of confidence meant for no one else's ears or mind.

Stold sighed as a curious warmth flooded him.

He looked down to his hand. In it's usual place, about chest high, resting on the bedroll. When had he scooted his hand to the very edge of his roll? When had Sufi mirrored the movement?

He physically shivered as Sufi's little fingertip caressed the outside of his little finger.

Stold held his breath. Uncertain if he should be telling his comrade to stop, or ask for more. Afraid that any noise, any movement, would cease this precious contact.

Sufi's eyes, a glimmer of dark in shadow, flicked up to him and back down. Emboldened by Stold's apparent lack of disgust, the little finger stroked to the very tip of his, drawing back down with excruciating slowness. Exploring every ridge and dip of his knuckles. Returning the way it came even slower.

Stold's blood rushed in his ears as that exploring finger passed over where he'd gnawed off the white of his nail. Explored that ragged edge before delving into the dip between his the fourth and third finger with a grand sweep so that he might fondle the delicate webbing at the base.

He stopped at Stold's gasp. The touch too intense. The accompanying caress of his mind too intrusive.

But he didn't pull away. Just rested his hand passively next to Stold's. Waited while he reconstructed his shields.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Didn't get enough hand porn in the last chapter? Well good, 'cause there's a little more in this one. This whole 500 words per chapter thing is a seriously frustrating challenge!

* * *

"Did you do this with your intended?" Stold wanted to ask. "Was the sensation this overwhelming? Are your ears filled with the sound of rushing air, as if falling from a great height?"

A hard lump congealed around his vocal cords. He swallowed several times, unsuccessful efforts to dislodge the obstruction serving to stay the words before they reached his mouth.

Sufi's hand still against his. Unmoved.

He hesitated long enough that Sufi finally whispered, "It is alright."

Granting permission to try? Permission to leave their hands separate – move on as if they had never touched like this?

He reached out, firmly tucking his index and middle finger under Sufi's, woodenly mirroring a kiss from uncountable memories of his parents exchanging such endearments. Shadows of memories, of thoughts and sensations flowed through their skin. Just whispers. Whispers in the dark.

Playground suppositions asserted themselves in his mind. Memories of boys and girls comparing what they knew of the telepathic capabilities of their species. Discussions held two arms lengths apart.

The intellectual concept of sharing every thought much less satisfying than the reality of this shadow caress.

Stold examined his internal shields. The tattered remains of his protection from the world.

His fingers tightened against Sufi as he struggled to release that safeguard, open himself up.

Contours of memories, fleeting flavors on the tongue, swam between them.

Sufi testing the differences in sensation.

Stold feeling...

A cough nearby jolted them away from one another.

Stold thrust his hand under the bundled robes that served as his pillow. Admitting to feeling guilt would go against Surak's teachings... but that did not stop the irrational desperation to not be caught.

"We are different," Sufi ventured after a long moment spent in the silence of sleeping thousands.

"Not compatible," Stold agreed. He hadn't bonded as a youth. His mother insisted he would find that resonating mind. In time.

"It is not a matter of compatibility," Sufi whispered. He reached under Stold's roll, clasping their fingers together again. Hidden from all eyes. "You felt... feel... you are drawn too..."

How can a sentence be so painful, so imprecise, in their language?

"I am drawn to men," Stold admitted. "You are not."

Sufi's grip tightened, as if attempting to argue the point, when Stold had seen into his mind and knew the truth of it.

"I am not drawn to males in the abstract, but I find this activity..."

Stold felt the push on his mind again.

_ Pleasurable. Enticing. Drawing my curiosity. Comforting. _

Thoughts and words that a follower of Surak did not admit to. Not out loud. Not in private.

Stold attempted to retreat, both his hand and within his mind. He did not wish to feel his naked, misplaced longing. Or his pity. The certainty that Stold would find no male to take him, unlike his friend who had already-

"Stop it!"

Several eyes in the dark glared at them.

Stold drank in the relief as Sufi finally withdrew his touch.


	10. Chapter 10

The next time they were called up to the replicators for their rations, several humans in uniform waited next to the queue.

Stold examined the table they'd assembled. Three meters long, a meter thick. Four humans stood on the far side, shoulder to shoulder, bent over thin boxes that covered the surface. A couple men at the end stood apart, one tapping away at a PADD, the other bowed over a tricorder.

Stold glanced at Sufi, a question written in the tilt of his eyebrows, only to be met by an unfamiliar wall. Sufi staring straight ahead, studiously avoiding any contact of any kind.

As they drew closer, step by slow, stomach gurgling step, the voices of the humans filled his ears. Questions being called out in halting Vulcan, the pronunciation nasal, grating. The man in the red uniform asked the same thing of each individual, requesting names, birthdates, speaking over the man in blue, who collected medical data. The person being quizzed would then hand over their meal card, which the blue-uniformed officer snapped into a computer at his side, type in something, and return the adjusted card back.

When he drew abreast, Stold looked down a the thin trays covering the table. Human fingers scrolled up and down laminated cards with stunning speed. The man in red called out names, tongue stumbling over the family names with the regularity of someone who'd never lived on Vulcan, and each of the assistants behind the table flipped through the trays before them.

Stold relayed his information, the medic scanned him, he handed his meal card over just as the pregnant woman in front of him did. His name called. He watched while they searched. A thin slip of plastic passed up efficiently. Both of the uniformed men studied this card, then his meal card, before handing both back.

Stold stepped off to the side, examining these items, while Sufi went through the same.

The meal card was the same. Bright yellow, no identifying marks other than its serial number etched in the back.

The other, however, was interesting. An identifying card.

His name printed in horizontal clunky Standard print. He'd written his name in Standard before, when he'd first taken classes in it in primary school. Hadn't thought of it in years.

Residence: Vulcan Rescue Center, Kelvin Stadium, San Francisco, CA; _This is considered a rescue center?_

Height: 6'1"; _Do not humans use metric? I am certainly not six meters tall... unless I misremember the conversion._

Weight: 145 lbs; _LBS? What does that stand for? Not kilograms._

Birthdate: April 30th; _I do not know who April is..._

Age: 22; _That's incorrect._

"Pardon me," he spoke up, just as Sufi gained his card. The man in red looked up. "The information on this identification card is incorrect."

He took it back, looked it over, and returned it. "No, it's accurate. We've converted everything to Earth measurements, to ease confusion. Next!"

"Whose confusion? His, or ours?" Sufi asked, examining his own card.


	11. Chapter 11

The adjusted meal was larger, at least. Still bland. Green and yellow chunks floated within the matrix.

Sufi separated a red sliver, lifting it for examination.

"Does your portion have this?"

"I do not think so."

He ate slowly, staring at the new piece of plastic in his lap.

"Why do you think they put this location as our residence?"

Sufi blinked up at him.

"It is where we are living now."

"But... why do we need it like this, official, if we are stuck here? We are here, so, we do not need to know where it is."

"An identification card isn't for the owner," Sufi remarked. "It's to prove yourself to other people."

"So... we can leave then."

Sufi looked up at him, finally. His mind worked a moment before the light of comprehension brightened his eyes.

"Yes. We can. Why else would they give us these?"

"Where would we go?"

Stold's words dragged Sufi's shoulders back down into a hunch.

"We have no where to go."

Stold scooped his spoon about the bowl. "No, we have no where to go... but that does not keep us from exploring. It would be better than sitting here all day with nothing to do."

On unspoken agreement, they finished their meals with unbecoming haste. Stold shook out his scorched school robes from the tight roll he'd been keeping them in. His fingers strayed over the the rends in the fabric, memories of the chaos at the museum mixing with the sensation of Sufi grabbing his shoulder.

"Stold?"

"Yes."

Sufi straightened his own robes.

Bowls and spoons in hand, they walked down the narrow path to the replicators, tucking them away and punching the code for the matter to be reclaimed.

They did not glance at one another, nor at the others in line that had been called up for their allotted meal. Simply turned and continued to walk, straight through the wide gates past that line.

No one stopped them as they passed through the underground labyrinth. No one questioned them in the lockers. No one spared them a second glance at the exterior gate. No one stood outside to correct them, show them back in.

Cold, bright air welcomed them. The bright, never ending blue no longer a sliver, but now a dome.

"It seems closer now," Sufi remarked, looking up.

Stold nodded, unsure how to respond to that.

"Which way should we go?"

Across a flat, volcanic-black field, San Fransico opened up to them. Only days before they'd walked in, now... he couldn't quite remember which direction they'd come in from.

"The hangar is that way," Sufi suggested, pointing behind them and to the left.

"Then let us go forward." Stold eyed Sol's position in the sky. "We should return before dusk."

A linear path seemed most logical, for a first excursion.

Untold possibilities stretched out before them. Unknown experiences.

Sufi reached to grasp Stold's hand, and in the cold light of an alien star, he grasped his friend tightly.


	12. Chapter 12

On their first excursion, red uniformed academy students glanced at them as they passed between Starfleet buildings. All moving with a purposeful gate into one building or another. Sufi dropped his hand at the inquisitive gaze of an older Vulcan in a blue Starfleet uniform. No one stopped them, but it was obvious they stood out. The general populous occasionally stopped and openly stared at them as they passed down the street.

They returned with a couple curious glances. No one questioned their egress.

The next day, and the next, and the next, they traveled further through the streets.

A passing human whispered something to her companion one day. A single word.

_Ghosts_.

The next time they passed a public terminal, he queried.

_ghost |gōst| noun_

_an apparition of a dead person that is believed to appear or become manifest to the living, typically as a nebulous image_

• _[as adj.] appearing or manifesting but not actually existing_

• _a faint trace of something _

• _[archaic] a spirit or soul._

• _a faint secondary image produced by a fault in an optical system or on a burnt LCD screen, e.g., by faulty subnet reception or internal reflection in a mirror or display._

Such a odd concept, yet... he experienced Sufi's desolation. The haunted expression of those few Vulcans who wandered the streets as well. The disoriented emptiness of the thousands still waiting in the stadium, without even the impetus to step out of the doors for a day's walk.

Just a trace of a Vulcan. The bodies continuing, while the spirit, the _katra_ of every one of them, lost to the aether.

Sucked into the black hole.

_The new Vulcan heart._

An endless rip in the fabric of space and time, with a gravity well so deep not even light might escape.

Stold directed their course the rest of the day. The bay called to him, for some reason. The warm breeze off of the ocean, perhaps. The thick press of tourists with their busy, cheerful minds nattering without care or shielding.

They stopped at the midpoint of the Golden Gate Bridge.

_One would think it would be yellow, not red._

"Do you know how to swim?" Sufi asked, as they gazed at the massive quantity of water.

"No."

"This world's surface is seventy percent water. It seems logical to learn."

Stold nodded without listening or processing.

The water, just here, looked particularly deep. Cold, too, if the bundled forms of the occasional human on the little sailing vessels indicated correctly.

"According to my aunt, we do not float, because of the density of our mass and lack of body fat. I never knew if she meant it for salt water, or fresh. Salt water has a higher density, so-"

Stold stopped his companion with a hand on the loose flutter of his sleeve.

"I have no interest in this. I am cold. Let us return."

"Of course."

Sufi stared at him for a long moment before regaining his side.


	13. Chapter 13

A new cluster of Vulcans entered with uniformed officials an hour after dawn. Clean, upright. Sharp eyes picking out a multitude of details, then away.

Seeing, and unseeing.

Few of Kelvin Stadium Vulcan Rescue Center residents possessed curiosity enough to look up.

Until names began to be called.

A strange mix. Some old, some young. The pregnant woman next to them. She stood, leaving her bedroll. The individual who met her bowed slightly, then indicated she should follow him away.

Sufi's name.

They exchanged glances.

"I shall return shortly."

Stold nodded. Remained seated. Watched, as his companion walked the thin path trailing between the others. Watched, as an ancient woman greeted him. Watched him bow in deference, ask questions of the human in red at her side. Watched him stagger, turn to run, before a pair of hands clawed with age clutched in his robes, stopping him.

Watched as Sufi left.

He swallowed, uncomprehending. Others called up before he finally gained his feet.

Ghosts passing him, willingly leaving for the first time in weeks, while he desperately tried to regain his only shred of sanity and return him to Stold's place at his side.

"Wait, son," the human grabbed him, stopped him. Totally unaware, uncaring, of touching his skin. Dark, painful throbbing emotions pounded into his mind.

_How does concern hurt? Why does guilt eat at me? Loneliness! My heart is empty!_

Stold jerked his hand away.

"What is going on? Why are these individuals being removed?"

"This is only temporary housing, kid. We've been working hard to reconnect what families we can-"

"Families?" Stold echoed. _But, Sufi had shown no recognition. Only wanted to run-_

"Yeah, kid. If we haven't called up your name, then we haven't-"

"I know my family is dead! You miserable _human_! I can feel them still! I can feel the void in my heart! Do you not think I feel that with my every breath? I do not feel their loss with every fiber of my being?"

The Vulcans still waiting to collect their family edged away. So did the human.

"Tell me! Tell me where you have taken him, damn you."

"Who?"

"Sufi."

The human did not even check his computer. "A great-grandaunt."

"He did not mention her. He would have felt-"

"No, kid. Everyone's suffered too much. Go back to your bedroll. I'll call a mindhealer for you."

"Fuck you," Stold proclaimed in a low growl. The human phrase surprisingly satisfactory on his lips. "FUCK YOU."

He fled.

Barely heard their shouting for the rush of air in his ears.

No goal in his mind but to regain his friend; none of the reunited were anywhere to be seen.

He collapsed in a dark, dusty corner. The echoes of those trying to find him filling the small space.

Something dark, hurtful clicked.

His muscles screamed in protest. Stold cursed back at them.

And he ran. As far as his feet could go, through a city that only saw him as a ghost.

A/N: Sorry it's been a while since I've updated Stold's story. It's, ah, surprisingly difficult to work with him at times, and there's been a lot of the work on the farm to do to get ready for winter that serves as an easy enough excuse to avoid the tough writing.

I'll try to do better!


End file.
